


Not Good

by amoralis



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 03:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10453977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoralis/pseuds/amoralis
Summary: Laying low is hard when you're drunk and itching to start a fight.In which Jesse Mccree runs into a bit of trouble on the way home from the bar, which really isn't that unusual anymore. (But it's for a good cause, so that's fine, right?)Set post-Overwatch, pre-Recall.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, first time writing!
> 
> This fic will be the first of a three-part series featuring one-shots about phases Mccree's life, not necessarily in order. There'll be some Mchanzo in the last one. Enjoy!

Mccree’s at the bar finishing off his whiskey, when the bartender cuts him off. 

With nothing else to do, he begrudging pays his tab and shuffles to the exit of the stuffy establishment. As of recently, he’s been staying in a town near the Southern border of New Mexico, a room in the local lodge acting as his digs for a few weeks before the string of bounty hunters he’s been dodging catch on to his presence. Such is the life of a wanted man.

It’s about midnight and despite being a small town, there are no shortage of lights in the downtown district where he strolls. Cheap bars and less-than-reputable establishments advertise their services into the wide, empty streets. It’s been raining while he was inside, and the smell of water on the dusty, cracked asphalt kicks him in the nose. Although drunk, Mccree decides to stick to the shadows on his way back as he’s forgone his serape for the night, hoping no one would recognize him. The cool air offers a nice reprieve against his flushed face however, and it sobers him right up. He slips into thought as he walks on.

The town around him is a quaint mix of old and new- seeing the retro wheeled cars chugging among the hover ones wasn’t unusual. He’s seen quite a few in the past weeks. It brings on a pang of nostalgia; as a child he lived somewhere similar. One of those towns in the middle of nowhere, slowly fading into time as the world marched onward. A shame really, he’d always thought they had a charm about them.

Looking at it now, the town doesn’t look like it had been hit hard by the Omnic Crisis. But he can tell by some of the looks he’s gotten at his left arm - there’s a resentment there. Although not affected directly, it hadn’t been uncommon during the Crisis for the railways to shut down their services to the smaller towns. Most resources went to the bigger areas for relief. Little by little, businesses would be starved and sold off, and people left for the cities to fight. However, as time went on and the country began to heal, some came back, bringing the new tech with them. It looked to be flourishing as much as it could be, even with the remains of the crisis still fresh scars on the minds of the residents. 

Mccree is drawn out of his musing when he hears a commotion just around the corner, in a dark alleyway. There are a few voices in the mix, one catching his attention immediately- the synthesised voice of an omnic. He goes to edge around the corner. 

Further down the alley, a group of five men stand, probably drunk, surrounding an early-model omnic and his girlfriend. They’re in their twenties, he estimates. The couple look like they had been on their way home too. One of them, something like the ringleader of the circle, is pushing the omnic, throwing insults. He’s tall but hunched, with a growth of blonde hair sprouting from his chin. The others are laughing, swaying, as well as checking out the girlfriend, who’s gripping onto the omnic’s arm like a lifeline. She’s scared.

‘C’mon Jenny, what’re you doing with a damn rust bucket like that?’ the leader sneers, ‘I thought you were interested in us _real_ men.’ He emphasises the _real_ with a jab into the omnic’s chestplate. He shows no visible reaction, but the women next to him cowers.

’He’s no rust bucket, and he’s got a name-’ She begins when her boyfriend’s arm raises to stop her. 

‘We’re not looking for trouble here. Just leave us, alright?’ The omnic says. He’s trying to diffuse the situation. The man laughs. 

‘No trouble here.’ He replies, ‘Just a conversation between us _people_ , right guys?’ the others join in the snickering. They’re getting closer to the couple now, crowding them up against the alley wall. Poking, pushing. Things are getting tenser. There’s no doubt somebody’s going to end up getting hurt. 

One of them, bulkier than the others with a mean glare, pulls out a switchblade, and starts to flick it in, out, in, out. He leers, predatory. The blade glows a dangerous orange. It’s one of those laser knives, Mccree makes out. Seriously bad news. The couple are looking downright terrified.

Now that weapons are involved, the cowboy decides he should step in to intervene. Hopefully Peacekeeper won’t have to make an appearance if things don’t go south. He sizes the five of them up. His height’s got an inch or two on most of theirs, but he’s still a bit fuzzy-eyed from the bar. Taking on five guys at once is never the best decision when he’s been drinking, but hey, he’s done much worse for much less. Mccree approaches, pulling his best sober-face.

‘Well now, what’s going on here?’ he says, feigning interest in the group as they turn to look at him. Mccree talks to the couple now. ‘These guys annoying you?’ 

The leader scowls, throwing a look to his friends. ‘We ain’t doing anything. S’none of your business.’ His large friend takes a step towards Mccree. ‘I’d say you’re the one annoying us, pal.’ 

Mcree raises his hands, throwing on a smile. He glances at the pair still backed up to the wall, silently watching him. He winks and looks back to the man. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ he begins, ‘Just a curious fella is all. But by the looks of that knife there though, I was just thinkin’ you were right ready to carve up the poor ‘bot and his lady. That wouldn’t do though, would it?’ His tone is still light, but there’s an air of threat there. ‘I hear them laser knives can get messy.’ He’s walking closer now.

His authority being challenged, the big shot looks ticked off. ‘Are you looking to be our guinea pig, buddy? I suggest you piss off if you don’t want a demonstration of just how _messy_ things can get.’ The gap between Mccree and him is closing, the two of them trying to out-intimidate each other. A battle for dominance. 'My friend here’s been itching to try it out since he picked it up off one of ‘em rangerbots.’ He grins maliciously. Mccree can see in his peripherals that the others are starting to gather around him. Whoops, he thinks. He has to act carefully.

‘If you’re tryin’ to scare me, it’ll take a lot more than that.’ He replies nonchalantly, hands still raised, ‘I’m just warning y’all: leave the poor folks alone or else. They weren’t bothering no one.’ 

He can feel Peacekeeper neatly holstered at his thigh, burning a hole in his pants. His trigger finger itches at the thought of a fight and the temptation to blast a few holes in these guys is strong, but any gunfire in the small town is sure to get the hunters hot on his trail. He’s meant to be laying low, goddamn it! 

Tensions are impossibly high now. They’re up in each other’s space, waiting for someone to pull the first move. There’s a heavy silence blanketing the alley. He’s completely surrounded. The couple is still staring agape at him, watching from the sidelines.

‘Hey, boss.’ the cowboy finally hears off to the left, ‘I can’t believe it, thought I recognized him. Look, he’s got an old six-shooter! It’s Jesse Mccree!’ the voice cries. Great, now his cover’s been blown. The others widen their eyes.

‘Jesse Mccree? Goddamn! What’s a criminal like you doing in our humble backwash town, huh? Never took you for the hero type,’ the ringleader smirks, crouching into a fighting position. ‘I’m sure we can get a nice sum for you, right boys?’ 

Well, Mccree thinks, I warned them, as he suddenly drops and goes for the man’s legs. The breath is knocked out of him as he hits the ground, and it sets the rest of the gang in motion. Mccree reacts accordingly; it’s second nature by now. Dodge here, aim there. It’s those Blackwatch moves coming up to save his ass yet again. 

He does however, miscalculate when one of them grabs for his neck from the back. He’s pulled backwards and his hat’s knocked off his head in the struggle. In a choke hold now, Mcree grabs at the assailant’s arms to get free before anyone can get a jab at him. Thankfully, his metal arm is able to pull hard enough for the man to yell in pain and let go, but he has a split second of victory before he sees the knife coming for him. 

Quick as a cobra, he swerves to avoid the blade and kicks up to knock the knife out of the goon’s hand. It flies across the alley, landing with a sizzle on the wet ground. While he’s startled by the surprise move, Mccree takes the opportunity to pull his arm up and strike low for his gut. The large man crumbles.

It’s back to fighting the others. He consistently lands blows, now with the largest one down. He twists, turns and slides to dodge the knocks aimed at him. It becomes clear quite quickly that he’s got the advantage over them, but not without suffering a few fists to the face. Finally, someone shouts out:

‘Alright, alright! We’ll leave. Jesus, Marty, get a grip on yourself!’ One of the men who wasn’t too hurt is hoisting up the almost-unconscious leader, backing him up off of Mccree. His nose is bleeding profusely. ‘You win this round, asshole. We’ll rip you a new one next time!’ He spits. The rest of the guys are scrambling up to follow him now, limping out of the alleyway. He watches them go, one of them picking up the sparking knife on their way. Mccree’s breathing heavily, neck prickling from the exertion. He can feel his arm overheating.

‘Oh god, thank you!’ The cowboy hears, and turns around to see the couple rushing towards him. The woman is smiling. Beside her, her boyfriend moves to clap him on the back. He’s laughing in a metallic voice.

‘They’ve been bothering us for weeks! Some folks really don’t take kindly to omnic-human relationships around here.’ He says to Mccree. ‘We really can’t thank you enough.’ 

The pair rattle on as he begins to come down from the high of it all. The familiar feeling of a post-fight ache settles into his arms and face, and he is _definitely_ going to have a black eye in the morning. 

*

Mccree bids them farewell with his blood-crumpled hat and a promise not to talk about what happened. He doesn’t want to make things worse than he already has. He guesses that by tomorrow, the men would already be snooping around for him.

Fumbling for and lighting a cigar, he sets off into the night again. The rest of the walk home is brief, and he makes himself as presentable as possible as he steps into the lodge. With a short talk to the sleepy man at the front desk, his fees are settled and his few belongings packed into a bag in his small room. Mccree feels sweaty and tired, but there’s no knowing what awaits him if he stays. So, off again he must go. As he saddles up on a battered old hoverbike he picked up a few towns ago, he takes one last glance to the quaint town. It glows dimly in the cool night, the last lights finally flicking off. 

Nothing but road from here. He’s going to have one hell of a hangover.


End file.
